


Wranduin Week 2019

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Birth, Firsts, Light and shadow, M/M, Party, Reunion, Wranduin Week 2019, consort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: My drabble fills for Wranduin Week 2019, covering the prompts Firsts, Party, Reunion, Shadow, Consort, and Birth.





	1. (First) Kiss

If there was one thing Anduin Wrynn hadn’t expected when he reached out to the Black Prince Wrathion, it was to find him to be so _normal._

Well, perhaps normal was the wrong word, he mused to himself after shooting a quick glance in Wrathion’s direction. The dragon leaned back against a boulder just beyond the rim of the outdoor bath, legs crossed and too-large crimson eyes studying Anduin’s face. When their gazes met, Wrathion’s slit pupils drew inward. Through the steam, Anduin caught the glint of his teeth. 

From the scale pattern around his eyes to the way he ranted about Mogu empires when left alone with his champions, it was clear he was a dragon, perhaps even an untrustworthy one. But when they were alone, he became someone else: the kind of friend Anduin had always imagined having, someone to gossip with, to share stories. 

The kind of person Anduin knew, as a teenager, he was supposed to have in his life, but had been never quite been able to find.

But finally, it seemed, he had found that kind of friend in Wrathion's persistent questions and the glint in his crimson eyes.

Clearly trying to sound as casual as possible, Wrathion chuckled. His musical voice echoed off the bamboo sides of the Tavern, like the soft ‘tnck’ of bells Anduin often heard when grummles passed through the Stair. Anduin sat up a bit straighter and watched him, the bath sloshing slightly as he readjusted his soaking leg. 

Whatever Wrathion was on about this time, he was eager, and Anduin couldn’t help but grin in anticipation, “Well, what was your question?”

“I was simply wondering,” Wrathion paused, his gaze darting to the cluster of humans waiting just out of earshot. 

Anduin followed his eyes to Harris and Reed, the two Lion’s Guard tasked with watching him during his stay. They kept their backs slightly turned from him, for once giving him some semblance of privacy. Sometimes it seemed the only place they were willing to leave him alone was at his morning bath.

The dragon, however, must have been uncertain about their discretion, because he scooted a few feet closer to Anduin before he continued, “I was simply wondering as I re-read _Savage Passions_ last evening if Lord Marcus has taken Raven as his consort. After all, they did consummate their union rather…ah, spectacularly.” 

In closer proximity, it was easier to see the glow on Wrathion’s dark cheeks, a blush Anduin suspected had very little to do with the steam rising from his bath. He arched his brow, clearing his throat before trying his best to answer, “It’s just a book, you know.” Surely your guards told you as much before handing it off to you, he wanted to add, but feared the jab would be a bit too pointed.

Wrathion, for his part, seemed undeterred, continuing his question as if Anduin hadn’t added anything, “Despite their wild ‘passions,’ as it were, I have been informed Lord Marcus has had many other adventures, sometimes with multiple women. This seems rather typical by dragon standards—” 

Anduin opened his mouth again. His own cheeks warmed, and he tried to relieve himself by scooting back out of the water, not stopping until only his broken foot remained submerged. Shaking his head slightly, he toyed with the hem of his wet shorts, increasingly conscious of Wrathion’s gaze, the way he studied him even as he tried so desperately to look away.

After a few moments of silence—a kind of pause that hung like steam in the air—Wrathion prompted him to continue by insisting, again, “So, naturally, I understand it, but I have also been given to believe that humans take issue with such affairs. Is that so?”

Anduin realized there was no escaping the question now. After pursing his lips for a moment and trying his best to meet Wrathion’s gaze, he began with a slight hitch in his breath he desperately wished he could steady: “It’s just a book, Wrathion. People read that series to, well…”

He trailed off for a moment, his throat far too tight to reveal anything further to that effect. Swallowing, glancing once more at his guards and the mountain road rising behind them, he managed to continue in a whisper, “Anyways, I don’t even think those people are real. If you want to learn about human courting customs, maybe you should ask some of your champions.”

“Oh, but our relationship is strictly business,” Wrathion drawled with a wave of his hand. The claws on his glove clicked together and his armor rattled. Anduin felt awkwardly bare in comparison. “It wouldn’t be _professional_ , and besides, I rather enjoy talking with you.”

It was enough to make Anduin fluster, but something about the way he said it was welcoming, almost. His relationship with his champions was ‘business,’ but with Anduin? Was he a confidant? Something even more significant than that? Caught up in that thought as he was, Anduin forgot to worry where this conversation might be heading until he heard the words leaving Wrathion’s lips: 

“So tell me, my dear, have _you_ ever courted anyone?” 

Anduin came back to the moment with a quick splash of his foot. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Excuse me?” He squeaked out, hoping he’d misunderstood.

“I said, do you have any firsthand experience with the mating habits of mortals? Courting, and the like?”

“I—” Anduin shook his head so hard his bangs, which had clung to his forehead in the steam, now swung free. “No!”

“Any boyfriends?”

“No.”

“Girlfriends?”

“No!” The prince sputtered, even more fervent that time. He shot a quick look at his guards, and then hissed out, or sputtered, really, “Light, no. Wrathion. I don’t even like girls that way.”

“Oh? So boyfriends only, then. Good, I will keep that in mind.”

‘In mind for what?’ Anduin might have asked if he were feeling more cogent. But as matters stood, he had to fight to string any sounds together into words. His tongue felt heavy, and his jaw clenched slightly as he felt Wrathion’s gaze move from his face to his bare chest, and then to his hands clenched together in his lap. There was something about the way the dragon took everything in so curiously that never failed to leave him unnerved. 

Silently scolding himself for losing his composure, he finally managed to speak again, “No, I haven’t ‘courted’ anyone yet, but if I were, well, yes, I would hope for a boy.”

“I see. Yes, all right,” Wrathion nodded, and Anduin hoped the matter had been put to rest. Releasing his clenched hands, he brought them, instead, to rest by his sides, his fingers digging into the gravel lining the edge of the bath. His thumb found a stone with a crack down the middle, worrying over the curve of the line and a few pieces of dust caught in it. It was better than meeting Wrathion’s eyes and his lips pursed in a thoughtful line.

That reprieve didn’t last long, however. Once again, Wrathion prompted, “But I would have thought you in high demand, as a prince with many talents and appealing traits. Surely you haven’t had any lack of suitors?”

Again, Anduin’s shoulders tensed. He might have stopped to wonder over his ‘talents and appealing traits’ had it not been for his pulse racing in his ears. For now, though, all he could do was hurry through his response: “I-I mean, I’m sure there have been inquiries, but my father promised he wouldn’t do anything without my consent, and I’ve been traveling to Ironforge, to the Exodar, to Theramore, here. I haven’t been back home for a while.”

“Oh, excellent, so you haven’t yet been betrothed? I know that is a custom among your people.”

“It is,” Anduin admitted. Grateful for the slight change of topic, he managed to sit up a bit straighter and ease his shoulder blades back apart. When he spoke again, it was with a bit more confidence, though not enough to look Wrathion in the eye. “I’m sure father had proposals, but thankfully he doesn’t believe in it. That’s one thing he’s always promised me, that I’ll get to choose my own partner someday.”

“And what a relief that must be!” Wrathion’s response was just as loud as usual, but it had lost some of its boisterous edge. Abandoning his ministrations with the gravel, Anduin turned to catch the faintest hint of a genuine smile playing on the dragon’s features. His eyes widened slightly. He didn’t have to wonder over it for long, however, because Wrathion went on to explain:

“My guards warned me that might be the case, but I am pleased to hear they were wrong. Being a man of his word, I’m certain your father’s promise still stands.”

“Well, yes,” Anduin started to reply, but when he opened his mouth to go on, he found his tongue heavy and dry. Something dim and undefined had kicked up in the pit of his stomach, stealing his voice before he had time to fully wonder why.

His guards. He had asked his guards. His guards had warned him. Oh. Oh, Light.

Unvoiced though it was, Wrathion must have caught some hint of his realization, as he went uncharacteristically quiet. 

Not knowing what else to do, Anduin took a moment to stare down into the steam-veiled water, trying to wiggle his toes and roll his ankle as he had been instructed to do. Even the tinge of pain he felt wasn’t enough to distract him from Wrathion’s soft breath beside him, however, or the way the tassels on his shoulder armor knocked together whenever he forced his back straight. 

In the lull in their conversation, he tried to wonder over the smell of noodles wafting out from the Tavern and the echo of laughter from guests drinking in one of the upstairs windows. Unfortunately, neither proved sufficient enough to engage him away from Wrathion and his questions.

Especially, it turned out, the question Wrathion had readied next:

“In light of that, I have been wondering,” Wrathion murmured, “If I may be permitted to kiss you?”

Under different circumstances, or spoken in another tone, Anduin might have taken the offer as posturing. After all, Wrathion loved to draw attention to himself and prided himself in catching Anduin off guard. But from the pause to the serious drop in his voice, Anduin knew he had spoken the words in earnest. 

No, there was no explaining this one away. The human prince opened his mouth, but his throat was far too tight to reply. He averted his gaze. Heat rose to his ears. When he trembled, he sent ripples across the steamy surface of the water and a splash against the edge of the tub. It was the only sound to fill the hush that set in: a silence that seemed to stretch from the valley below to the mountains bearing in overhead to watch. 

Wrathion…was a dragon, he fought to remind himself, and a black dragon at that. He was a priest and a prince, and with those roles came certain decorum, certain expectations. And even if none of that mattered, it was still dangerous, right? Letting a dragon put him in such a vulnerable place was ill-advised at best, and downright dangerous at worst.

Not to mention they were in public, and anyone could catch them at any moment. His guards could approach, or one of Wrathion’s champions could exit the back door of the Tavern. There would be scandal and outrage. His father might make him come home! And yet, and yet—

When he glanced back over at Wrathion, he found him looking…rather normal. His red eyes still burned, and the scales around his eyes danced in the morning sun, but his lips parted slightly and fell to a frown. He shifted and, under Anduin’s stare, averted his gaze to the left. He was nervous, and Anduin felt his anxiety clench and tighten in his own chest, as well. 

Sitting there on the edge of the bath, they weren’t two princes hedging their powers against one another, but friends, the kind of friends Anduin had always dreamed of. 

Acting before he had a chance to reconsider, Anduin shot a look towards his guards, who, thankfully, seemed to be talking amongst themselves. Toying with the hem of his shorts, he lowered his voice, and forced himself to reply, “Yes, okay. If you want, I mean. All right.”

“Right now?”

“I—” Oh, Light, what was he doing? What kind of irrational thought had come over him? “Yes, right now. The guards won’t keep talking for long.”

His own words felt like they came from somewhere outside him. He flustered as he heard them linger in the gap between them, but knew, now, that there was no going back. If this were going to happen, it needed to happen before either of them lost their nerve or their privacy. 

Of course, that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his ears. Unable to do much else, he just licked his lips, making sure they weren’t too dry. He then forced himself to meet Wrathion’s widened gaze with a too-broad smile of his own. 

Wrathion started to lean forward; Anduin's cheeks burned red.

He tried his best not to think too hard about where the dragon was headed, but much to his surprise, and chagrin, even, perhaps, nothing more happened after Wrathion shifted his weight. Instead he just lingered and stared at Anduin’s mouth; his slit pupils all but consumed the red of his eyes as he studied him, and Anduin felt every second of it, cowered under a gaze the Black Prince usually reserved for the artifacts and treasures champions passed off to gain his favor. 

Needing to break from his stare, he leaned closer. Wrathion hurried to match his gesture but stopped again with his face mere inches from Anduin’s. His gloved hand waited, half-outstretched, an inch or so from the top of Anduin’s arm, and the exhale that followed brought a few curls of smoke on its heels, which caressed Anduin’s already too-hot cheeks. 

Starting to lose his nerve, Anduin swallowed, licked his bottom lip once more, and tilted his head to make the first move. Not wanting to be upstaged, Wrathion, too, jerked forward, bumping against his nose, and then shifting, ever so slightly, until his full lower lip brushed against Anduin’s and his goatee tickled his chin.

And then, his gloved hand came to rest on the curve of Anduin’s cheek, and the red of his eyes disappeared beneath his thick lashes. 

Anduin pressed in to stifle a gasp.

It wasn’t the kind of spark he had imagined reading romance novels back at the Keep. There was no flash of light or magic puff, even if he was kissing a dragon in some sacred, uncharted land at the ends of the earth. It wasn’t the stuff of stories, to be quite honest, but it was realer, more visceral, even, than his imagination could have conjured.

He was aware of everything, from the softness of Wrathion’s lips to the sharp tip of his claws at the ends of his satin glove. He smelled of ash, sandlewood, and even a bit like the tea they had sipped at the table a few hours earlier. 

There was a faint wetness at the tip of his tongue, and even though Anduin tensed and pursed closed his lips, he could still feel it moving against him, teasing, drawing out a tremble that lasted even after Wrathion broke contact and sank back onto his heels. 

Frozen, it took a moment for Anduin to gather his thoughts. His tight chest fought to breathe, and, even though steam had started to slip back between them, he could still feel Wrathion’s gaze piercing through to watch everything from his eyes to the part in his lips.

Unable to do much else, he offered a flustered smile. Wrathion seemed to gather what he wanted from Anduin’s face, because he reached back across the distance, this time touching not Anduin’s cheek but his hands clenched together in the lap of his bathing shorts. Spreading his claws out over them, seeming to care very little about getting wet, he gave him a squeeze, and then admitted, in much the same drawl Anduin had grown accustomed to, but with the slightest hitch in his breath:

“Well, then! That was an adventure, was it not?” 

Even if Anduin _had_ wanted to reply to such a strange declaration, he didn’t trust himself to let out more than a giggle.


	2. Fireworks (Party)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Anduin struggled to hold back his grin; the corners of his lips twitched when Wrathion shot him a look, a chuckle threatening to escape at the utter indignation he found there. Finally, dramatically, the dragon heaved a sigh, and all Anduin’s efforts proved to be in vain. He giggled, Wrathion blushed, and before he knew it the dragon was shoving the metal lighter in his direction.

“Well, my dear prince, perhaps you would like to show us your skills. The instructions prove _far_ too complex for me.” Between the dragon’s inflection and the way he extended his arms, gesturing to some invisible audience rather than the smattering of guards that lingered just out of earshot, Anduin knew he was trying to deflect. 

But many nights playing _jihui_ had prepared him for the banter, and he just nudged the lighter away, then picked up his pearl milk tea and took a long swig. “But you were just saying how experienced you are with pyrotechnics,” Anduin pointed out after chewing and swallowing one of the ‘pearls.’ “Remember? ‘A dragon does not need help lighting fires, Janae! We have been doing so long before your people ever tilled these—’” 

“Ah, yes,” Wrathion cut him off, clearly none-too-amused by Anduin’s impression, though, as always, he waved his hand and plastered an accommodating grin across his face. It was another maneuver Anduin recognized, but he let it slide, simply smiling around his straw and letting the dragon perform. 

“My people have glands for this kind of thing. It is part of our physiology! We have no need for lighters.” As if to prove his point, he gave the metal wheel another spin with the pad of his thumb. His claw ‘clck’ed and knocked against the lip, and, again, nothing materialized. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and he shot the device another suspicious look. 

“Mortals invented these things to make up for a lack, you see.”

“Well, why not just get down and blow on it?”

The sheer…obviousness of the statement seemed to catch Wrathion off guard. His red eyes widened and his jaw went slack. A certain heat passed over his cheeks—visible, even, under the waning summer moon—and when he curled his lips and tried to respond, nothing appeared but the glint of his razor-sharp teeth. He flicked his tongue and tried again, clutching the lighter with one hand and smoothing his tabard out with the other. “Ah, but then I’d get dirty, and I don’t want to look a mess when your father arrives.”

“Oh, he’ll understand,” Anduin tried to sound nonchalant, not letting his mind linger too long on the comment or the fears it threatened to spark. Instead, he just relaxed and enjoyed another sip of his tea, trying to ease some of the strain off his injured leg. “He’s been to war. I’m sure he’s been muddy before.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Wrathion all but drawled, and cast his eyes, once more, on the firecracker poised to launch. It took a few moments for Anduin to make sense of his hesitation, but then it hit him: this was never about the mud. A small grin played on his lips, and, putting some of his weight on the stairs beside him, he limped forward to touch Wrathion’s arm. 

The dragon looked up at the contact. He opened his mouth, but Anduin interjected, sincere, but a little bit playful, “What’s wrong? Worried the fuse is too big?”

“Too big?” From the outrage on Wrathion’s lips to the way he sputtered when he tried to answer, it was clear Anduin had hit the nail on the head. The prince smiled and leaned back against the stair railing; Wrathion shot the rocket another narrow-eyed glare. “Of course it isn’t too big. I don’t know what you mean.”

“I just mean, if you don’t have enough fire in you, maybe we should go back to the lighter.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I have enough fire in me. Who do you think you are speaking to?” 

Anduin did nothing to restrain his grin now, chuckling and watching Wrathion struggle to form another excuse. Overhead, a firework crackled and spiraled in all directions, its white-and-gold blossoms casting their light on Wrathion’s cheeks, and again, Anduin was struck by the flush he knew had little too do with the midsummer weather. His heart fluttered, and he wiped his brow. Wrathion dug the heel of his boot in the mud.

Finally, the dragon let out a sigh. The small curls of smoke that escaped his lips seemed to herald the fire he hoped to muster, wavering and fading into the night just as Anduin expected the flames to do. Making sure to keep a safe distance, Anduin took another sip of his tea, watching everything from the pout on Wrathion’s lips to the lighter he tossed on the ground. 

It was hard not to chuckle when every step Wrathion struggled to take betrayed nerves poorly masked by dramatics. 

“Fine, fine,” Wrathion extended his arms, looking first at the small cluster of guards, and then back in Anduin’s direction. Making a show of wrinkling his nose, he eased down onto one knee. He shook slightly, but it wasn’t _quite_ clear to Anduin whether he was trembling or struggling not to bear down his weight on the mud. Honestly, it could have been either.

“If you would like a demonstration of my power, who am I deny you that? Now, if you please, stand back, my dear. I’d hate for you to get caught up in the blast.”

Anduin nodded and smiled, but as soon as Wrathion turned away he let it brighten with his own amusement. Shifting his weight ever so slightly, just enough to stumble back if he needed to, the human prince waited with one hand wrapped around the base of his pearl milk tea and the other gently grasping the rail.

Wrathion took the wick between his thumb and his index finger, drawing back, and then exhaling with a gasp that sent his body rocking forward. Although Anduin couldn’t see around the other boy’s turban, it was clear from the silence that followed that nothing much had transpired. He drew in another breath, the tassels on his shoulderpads shuttering with his chest’s expansion. The sound that followed was far too high in his throat, more like a cough than a true flame breath, and followed up with a few spat words in a language Anduin couldn’t understand.

But he caught their meaning, and that alone made it hard not to tease. Carefully, he released his grip on the rail and took a few limping steps in Wrathion’s direction, not stopping until his hand brushed his tabard just below the leather strap. He snuck the tips of his fingers beneath its edge, pretending to soothe, “I’m sure we can ask Janae to come back and help.”

His words were as sweet as the tea he had abandoned on the stairs, but Wrathion saw right through them. He straightened his back, his turban drooping slightly to the left when he shook his head. Beneath the cloth, Anduin caught sight of curly hair clinging to sweat at the nape of his neck. 

He punctuated his offer with a pat. “Really, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind!”

“Oh, but that’s highly unnecessary, my dear, I can assure you. I just need a moment to gather my thoughts.”

“Oh, but I hear it happens to everyone sometimes. There’s no need to be ashamed!”

Even as Anduin heard himself crack that joke he could have _never_ repeated in his father’s company, heating rising to the tip of his ears and lips parting in a giggle, Wrathion reacted. He tensed, and then huffed with a force that built deep under Anduin’s palm and rumbled from his chest to the tip of his tongue.

There was a roar, and then an explosion, leaving the air thick with smoke and the smell of brimstone. Wrathion lost his balance and knocked—no, pressed, really—into Anduin’s chest. The fuse’s hiss and the rattle of the rocket twitching against its bamboo prop served as the only warning for what was to follow, and then—

The ground shook with a force that rocked both boys off their balance. Anduin’s free hand was the first thing to hit the mud, but even his fingers curling in the goop weren’t enough to break their fall. Pain shot up his leg when Wrathion bumped against it, but it felt like a distant cry, overshadowed by the burst of light that flooded his field of vision.

He blinked once, twice, wrapping a muddy arm across Wrathion’s chest as the world around them finally came back into focus. His heart pounded in his throat. The dragon’s body against his seemed to shudder with life, fear, and a kind of wild satisfaction when he turned his crimson gaze up towards the sky.

Anduin swallowed and followed his lead, watching as their rocket spiraled among the stars and then burst into blue-and-gold tendrils like petals on a chrysanthemum. Every trail of light ended in another tiny explosion, their sparks twirling, dancing, drawing the whole sky into their halos before dissolving into a crackle.

But even after they faded, the night sky overheard seemed to shimmer. Anduin leaned back and loosened his grip on the dragon, but rather than getting up, Wrathion just rolled over. His knee slid between Anduin’s legs, and his glove, caked with mud, gently cupped Anduin’s cheek.

They kissed with little thought paid to the guards lingering just out of sight or the festival carrying on below. With a kind of fervor urged by the thudding of Anduin’s heart, the human tugged at Wrathion’s turban, then cast it aside to run muddy fingers up through his curls.

Rather then protesting, Wrathion just parted his lips. The tip of his tongue sought out Anduin’s, and with a shaky exhale that still smelled of brimstone, he teased him. Sweat clung to his brow where the band of his turban had been, but Anduin just nuzzled, nipping softly at his full lower lip, digging his fingers into his back and clinging like this was their last night together on earth.

Because, in a way, it was, at least as far as Anduin knew. The thought rose unbidden, but he forced it down. His fingers instead took in the smooth scales decorating Wrathion’s collar and the strap that slid out of place off his arm. 

He gasped. Another firework shot into the sky above them, framing Wrathion’s curls in a shower of light he knew he wouldn’t soon forget. 

But all things must come to an end. After a few kisses, and a nip that would linger on his lower lip for many minutes thereafter, Anduin heard his Lion’s Guard call his name. They did not need to say anything further; the hitch in the young man’s voice was more than enough to herald his father’s arrival.

Anduin sat back into the mud, flexing his knee, then trying his best to get himself back up to standing. Everything from his tunic to hair was smudged, and his bangs stuck together over his lopsided crown, but there wasn’t much he could do besides rise, straighten, and limp back over to the stair. 

Wrathion scooped up his muddy turban and trailed behind him, reaching out as if to help clean Anduin’s shoulder. He hesitated, however, when they both heard the squeal of plate armor and footfalls of a trotting horse nearing their party at the top of the hill. The next rocket that cut across the sky would be the final spark of the night.


	3. Reunion

Wrathion had, of course, planned out everything. When his contacts in Old Town revealed Anduin had left the city, he gathered an entourage of his best agents and prepared to travel to Dalaran. It hadn’t been difficult to gain entry, not with so many of his champions working with the Uncrowned, nor did anyone seem particularly alarmed to see him walking the streets. A soldier or two even stopped to ask if he needed a mercenary. 

It gave him confidence knowing some citizens of Azeroth, at least, were indifferent to his ‘accomplice’ status. All he could hope now was that Anduin would be of a similar mind on the matter.

He had rehearsed his story: his nightmares, Kairozdormu’s manipulation, the two ill-spent and stress-filled years he squandered wandering Draenor, and all of it candidly true. If he knew Anduin like he thought he did, he knew the boy loved a good redemption story. He had wanted to forgive Garrosh, after all; surely there would be forgiveness left for Wrathion, who had hardly even participated.

It was with that mindset that he readied his agents and departed for A Hero’s Welcome. After Left and Right had occupied the guards, he ascended the winding staircase, straightening his turban, lingering a moment before a mirror on the wall, and then finally approaching the door he had learned was Anduin’s.

He lifted a clawed hand to the door and rapped with his knuckles. At first, there was no sound or sign of life beyond the threshold. Prepared to pick the lock, but hoping it wouldn’t come to that—no, that would do nothing to regain the king’s trust—he lowered his voice, and whispered, “My dear? It’s Wrathion.”

It wasn’t quite the greeting he had rehearsed, but it did the trick. Inside, something shifted. The springs of the mattress squeaked, and then he heard bare feet padding across a hardwood floor. The lock clicked. Swallowing, Wrathion stood up straight and forced his face to look neutral.

For what seemed like hours, Wrathion waited with his hands folded in front of him, until the wood door eased inward, and two pale eyes stared back at him from the shadows.

Anduin looked gaunt, Wrathion noticed at once, his heart clenching slightly with emotion he hadn’t imagined encountering. The once-shining prince had become a king, at least a foot taller than Wrathion himself, but with dark circles marring his cheeks and brows that furrowed with some half-contained emotion.

Wrathion tilted his chin and looked up at him, shoving down the exclamation that threatened to rise unbidden to his lips. Grieved, confused, and frustrated, Anduin met his stare with a frown, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “Wrathion, why are you here?”

It was muttered with…not indifference, really. No, Wrathion decided, it was a kind of restrained chill, a far cry from the pointed critiques he had once made of Wrathion’s actions. For the first time that evening, dread started to churn in the pit of Wrathion’s chest. It was the same kind of hopelessness that had haunted him during those long days on Draenor, and it struck again like an icy wave. 

Despite his waiting, his deliberations, and all his careful planning, this might not go as he had expected. His doubt must have reached his face, because Anduin reacted, shifting his weight and resting his hand against the doorframe. “What have you done with my guards?”

It didn’t sound like an accusation, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like one. Finally breaking eye contact, Wrathion let his gaze wander to the room beyond Anduin’s head. It was dark save for a single lantern by his bedside, and there a book lay open, marked with a gold compass that shone in the halo of light. 

Wrathion drew in a breath, and, cautiously, took a step closer. Anduin responded by tightening his grip on the wall. 

“My prince, or king, rather, as always it’s a pleasure to see you,” Wrathion dipped his head, his turban sliding an inch or two forward. He brought his hand up to steady it, willing his voice to retain its usual flourish even without his usual confidence to back it. “Please, may I come in?”

But Anduin made no move to step back. Instead, he persisted, “Wrathion, where are my guards?”

“Drinking with Left and Right, I imagine,” he dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. Naturally, he had considered incapacitating them, but realized that might not be taken well considering past events. It seemed he had guessed correctly, he realized with a nervous smile. “In any case, they are unharmed, and you will be, too. I simply feel our silence has lasted long enough and wish to set things right if I can.”

“Now,” Wrathion continued before Anduin could open his mouth and reply. “Please, I feel these matters must be discussed more fully in the privacy of your room. May I please come in?”

For a long moment, it seemed Anduin would deny him, and, he supposed, he couldn’t fault him for that. But something of the boy he had once played games with and whispered to in the dark won out, and he nodded. His jaw clenched, and unkempt hair swung beside his pallid cheeks. 

Wrathion exhaled and followed him into the room. His eyes cast a crimson glow in the otherwise-darkened space, which Anduin seemed to watch as he circled around him and limped to pull out a chair. His finger clicked a switch, then another lamp pierced through the shadows, this one stronger and larger than the one by the bed.

Knowing he was meant to sit, Wrathion followed, but rested his hand against the chair’s high back rather than sinking into it. Anduin paused, but ultimately did not protest, instead walking back to the bed and taking a seat on the corner of the mattress.

And then, for a moment at least, they lapsed into silence.

In the lamplight, the wan hue that had consumed Anduin’s once-bright cheeks looked even starker. Pursing his lips, Wrathion, instead, occupied his gaze with the boy’s new armor and leather gloves that clenched together in his lap. Every moment dragged on with only the squeak of Anduin’s mattress and the hitch in Wrathion’s breath to fill it.

But he had to remember why he was there. Licking his lips, he started, as candidly as he could managed: “I was grieved when I heard of your father’s passing. I am sorry I did not send my condolences immediately. I simply didn’t want to burden you during what was undoubtedly a difficult time.”

Wrathion knew little of the pain associated with losing a loved one, and there was no use pretending he did, not when Anduin knew full well that Wrathion hated his family. But the look that passed over Anduin’s face—the way it collapsed into itself and quivered when he tried to speak—sent a pang to Wrathion’s heart. He had half a mind to rise and reach for him, but when he tried to shift his feet felt like lead. 

Instead, he just watched, licked his lower lip, and swallowed, forcing his throat to relax before speaking again, “In any case, I have come to apologize and to explain my missteps to you. I do not demand your forgiveness, of course, but I hope I may at least help you understand my error and why I was led astray. Is that something I can offer you, my dear?”

He had anticipated some kind of response to that. When Anduin’s lips remained clenched in a frown, however, he opened his mouth to try a new tactic. But then, slowly, and with an unmistakable quiver, Anduin replied, “I waited, you know. I kept that stone you gave me under my pillow, and every night I expected to hear your voice.”

Wrathion felt like the wind had been knocked from his chest. Blood started to drain from his cheeks, and he hurried to explain, “The stone didn’t work on Draenor. I, ah, used to hold it in my hands and think of you. I truly had hoped to warn you—”

“When I heard,” Anduin continued, not even glancing in his direction. His voice remained level, almost emotionless, but Wrathion wasn’t fooled. He knew too well that Anduin spoke this way when he was trying to stay neutral, trying to force down feeling for the sake of diplomacy. It felt like a hollow concession; part of Wrathion would have preferred if he had just snapped. 

“When I heard Admiral Taylor had taken you in, I hoped he’d bring you through the portal. I was ready to try you myself. I insisted to father that I should be the one to question you.”

There was an unmistakable crack in his voice when he mentioned his father, but Wrathion didn’t react to it. He just nodded, and offered a quiet confession, “I turned myself in, you know. I was hoping, at first, that he would transport me back to Azeroth.”

“But then you played him and stole his men.” 

Again, it wasn’t an accusation, though Wrathion almost wished it had been. It would have been far easier to snap back a retort than wavering, awkwardly, with his hands clenching the back of the chair. He lowered his gaze, and murmured, “Yes, well, circumstances changed.”

“He died, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I tried to warn him, you see.”

“All right.”

There wasn’t any kind of surprise or anger behind his words, just resignation: the kind that hung heavy in the space between them. Again, Wrathion thought to reach for him, to approach with a hand outstretched and offer it to him, if nothing else to ease his shaking fingers apart. Making up his mind, he released the chair and took a step forward. Anduin seemed to clock his approach, taking in every movement with widened eyes and brows furrowing together.

After a few clicks of his heels against the wood floor, Wrathion reached the edge of the bed. Stretching out his arm, he waited with a breath caught in his throat. He could feel Anduin’s eyes studying his glove, taking in gold trimming that flashed in the lamplight and the sharp points at the end of each digit where his claws waited, half-concealed. 

The breath that escaped the king sounded more like a shudder, but, just as Wrathion’s stomach clenched and he started to doubt his gesture, the man shifted and reached out to touch his fingers.

It wasn’t a shake, or even a squeeze, but more of a ghost-like echo of a memory of what they once shared. But it was enough to draw the emotion from Anduin’s lips to his eyes. He looked up at Wrathion, and, when he blinked, a few tears rolled down his cheeks. 

As gentle as he could manage, the dragon eased his hand away from Anduin’s and brought it, instead, to his face, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the liquid away. With that, the air seemed to shift. Leaning into his touch, Anduin squeezed closed his eyes.

Wrathion’s mouth went dry, and for a time, all he could manage when he tried to speak was a short intake of breath. For all his practice, every explanation he had gathered and weighed, he hadn’t expected to find himself at a loss. But here he was, cupping Anduin’s cheek, fighting with a lump that had formed in his throat. 

It was Anduin who finally broke their stilted pause. He remained frozen, eyes closed, as he leaned into Wrathion’s touch, and when he spoke it was in a tone thick with emotion, a murmur that all but died as another quiver passed through him:

“Wrathion,” his breath hitched. “I’ve just been so alone.”


	4. Azerite (Light/Shadow)

Wrathion felt her screams: high sobs that wracked through his body from his clenched fingers to the ache in his heart. In his last sleeping moments, he squeezed closed his eyes and clung to Anduin’s silk duvet, shuddering as pain crawled up his spine and he felt more than heard her pleas. 

His cheeks were wet but be it from sweat or tears he wasn’t quite sure. He just buried his head in the pillow and fought to catch his breath, then shifted onto his side and let the world around him materialize.

The nightmares had gotten worse since that day Sargeras’ sword ripped through the heart of the world. He and Anduin had been sitting together by the lake when the tremors first started. The surface of the water had quivered and rippled and then, all at once, they were bathed in a red light that seemed to consume the sky.

The last thing Wrathion remembered was the screams: wailing children, the guards shouting Anduin’s name, and then the fire that had ripped through his chest and plunged him into darkness. When he awoke, Anduin had his hand pressed to his heart, light pouring from his fingertips and caressing Wrathion’s bare skin, but it hadn't been enough. 

Flustered, and a bit ashamed, he had waved his hand and tried to dismiss the crowd that had gathered around him. Even his attempts at assurance, however, hadn't been able to hide the way he had quaked when he had staggered to his feet.

The pain, the visions, they had come and gone since then, but this morning they were poignantly vivid, and lingered even after he opened his eyes.

Anduin’s bedchamber was bathed in the grey shadows of early morning. Judging by the cool color they cast in a line on the floor, it couldn’t have been any later than the sixth hour. Wrathion half-expected Anduin to drape an arm around his chest and pull him back under the blanket, but when he rolled over he found that his boyfriend’s side of the bed had gone cold.

He must be at an early meeting, Wrathion realized. At least he didn’t have to explain away the wet spot he’d left on the pillow or assure the king that it was just another nightmare that had left him fighting for air. 

Anduin always worried when he got like this, and he hated looking vulnerable, even in front of the man with whom he had shared nearly everything else. It was for the best that he was away. It gave Wrathion time to swallow, to push himself up to sitting, and to stare off into the darkness while he thought through what he’d felt and what it meant for the Titan crying beneath him. 

But something in the adjacent room drew Wrathion’s eye. At first, he thought Anduin had left on a lamp at his desk, perhaps from when he was dressing, but then realized it was neither as warm nor as bright as any of the lights in the Keep.

Instead it glimmered in equal parts gold and blue, merging into a cold white light that flickered across the wall behind the desk. Its halo danced and wavered, looking more like light refracted through a crystal than anything cast by a flame. 

From his place on the bed, Wrathion watched it. His heart pounded high in his throat, but he couldn’t be sure whether it was the sweat that stuck to his shirt or the strange light that left his back feeling cold.

Well, he decided, there was only one way to find out.

Crawling out of bed, he straightened his undershirt and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. Padding across the floor, he lingered for a moment at the top of the steps leading down to the king’s study, and then took them with his gaze transfixed on that light. When he drew closer, he realized its source. A small bowl sat in the middle of the table, and in it, a handful of crystals sparkled with a shine that was all their own.

At first, their allure drew him closer, but with every step, the air around him seemed to change. It started with a quiver, then a gasp that echoed off every wall. He worried for a moment that the sound had escaped from him, but when he bit his lower lip he found it cold and unmoved. Whatever this whimpering was, it wasn’t escaping from him.

If there was one thing Wrathion feared, it was voices that no one could hear but him. Dread started to give way to panic, and by the time he reached the edge of the desk he could barely force air in his chest. His heart ached. The world around him seemed to falter and spin. 

When he extended a clawed hand towards the bowl he was met by a pulse that rippled like an explosion sparked deep beneath the waves. And then the crying returned, stabbing him in the heart and threatening to rise to his crimson eyes. He could feel every shiver, every plea, as real as if he stood at Azeroth’s heart himself. Something wasn’t right. Azeroth was in agony, and he felt it, saw it, even, in every quiver and shake of the crystals in front of him, in the unstable light that danced across the wall.

He didn’t even need to touch it to know this was her, she was here. But why? Who had left something so violent and torturous out in the High King’s chamber? Preparing to call for a servant, he turned from the desk and hurried across the room to the door that led to the stairs. 

Just as his clammy palm made contact with the handle, however, the door creaked inward, and he had to withdraw to avoid being knocked in the face. He was greeted by Anduin’s widened eyes, barely visible in the shadows, and a tray that quivered when the king tried to step back. 

A few drops of coffee sloshed over the rim of one of the mugs he held, landing with a soft ‘splsh’ next to a plate of sausage. Both men opened their mouth at once, Wrathion’s half-gasped apology disappearing under the short, awkward laugh that escaped the young king’s lips when he exclaimed, “Oh, Wrathion! Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet. I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“I—Oh, no, my dear!” Wrathion managed. “I am truly sorry for running into you.”

He feared Anduin could hear the drumming of his pulse, which felt thunderous in his own ears, but from the easy smile Anduin offered he decided that he could not. Instead, Anduin occupied himself with tucking the tray against one hip and turning on his lamp with the other. Light flooded the room, but it did not chase away the shimmer and murmur of crystals from the bowl on his desk. 

Wrathion planned to warn him about it, but before he could open his mouth, Anduin stepped up onto the landing and circled past him. He crossed the space in a few easy steps, and the dragon couldn’t help but notice that he neither struggled nor limped. Normally, it would have pleased him to see his boyfriend walking so freely, but now it filled him with a kind of trepidation he couldn’t quite explain.

Anduin approached the desk and placed the tray down. Wrathion tried to interest himself in their breakfast—sausage and coffee for him and a pastry that must have been Anduin’s—but it was hard to focus on anything but the ethereal light dancing across the human's face.

Wrathion took a seat, but every moment he spent in that light plunged him further into its chill. How could Anduin keep smiling in its presence?

“My dear,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “Why are these crystals here?”

“Oh,” Anduin was more than eager to reply. His chest seemed to swell with pride as he took the seat across from him and reached into the bowl. His fingers closed around one of the crystals and he extended it in Wrathion’s direction, clearly wanting him to take it. Wrathion had no intention of doing any such thing. 

“The first shipment of Azerite arrived this morning. I went down to the harbor with Genn to see it. Isn’t it beautiful, Wrathion? These samples are even more amazing than the first piece the Spymaster showed me.”

“Beautiful?” Wrathion repeated, accentuating every sound: not fueled by his own excitement, but rather in a bid to keep his voice steady. “I am not sure beautiful is how I’d describe it, personally. It feels a bit more—”

“Magical? Awe-inspiring? Like seeing the Vale for the first time?” The words tumbled from the king’s lips, without even a hint of hesitation. It wasn’t like Anduin to interrupt Wrathion, and it stung, leaving his jaw slack. He had no choice but to let Anduin keep going. 

“I know, Wrathion. The Light has blessed us with this discovery. There’s so much good we can do, so many people we can save with this power. Today is the start of a new era of peace for the Alliance,” he smiled, setting aside the crystal to offer Wrathion the mug of coffee instead. 

This time, the dragon accepted, but brought it to his pursed lips without taking a sip. Anduin continued, undaunted: “We’ll bring the Banshee Queen to justice, and then all of Azeroth can endure!”

Hearing Azeroth’s name finally stirred Wrathion to protest. With her screams and tremors still shaking the air around him, he cut in, his claws scratching the ceramic cup he clutched desperately in his palm. “My dear, I hate to be a naysayer, but do you really think pillaging Azeroth is going to bring peace to her people?”

Anduin’s eyes narrowed. The shadow that passed over his face was so sharp it left Wrathion speechless. He had never seen King Anduin scowl quite like this. “I’m doing what I have to do for the Alliance,” he insisted, “Nobody is ‘pillaging’ here.”

“But my dear,” Wrathion tried again. With every word, his mouth grew drier, “Surely you know what this is, right? The _Azerite_ , as you call it.”

“It’s our salvation,” Anduin frowned, and his eyes flashed as he stared back into the bowl. “Aren’t you the one who always tells me a king must be strong, persistent, charismatic, and—”

“—have better technology than his opponents, yes,” Wrathion admitted in return. But even as he said it, the light pulsed and flickered across his face like ice in a winter storm. Finally giving up on his coffee, he set it aside and clenched his hands together, instead, in his lap. “But that is within certain perimeters, of course. You cannot simply take any resource you please.”

“Oh, is that so? That’s rich coming from you, Wrathion. Mogu relics, the Iron Horde, but I guess you draw the line at minerals now?” Whatever anger Anduin had left unsaid in the past now issued from his lips unhindered; it wasn’t clear to the dragon whether it was that horrible Azerite or his boyfriend’s frustrations that stoked the pain in his chest, or if the two could even be separated.

All he knew was that he had to fight through every breath, persisting, and reminding himself that Anduin wasn’t this way. Whatever was happening wasn’t the king, wasn't the boy he had met in Pandaria, and he had to help him see. He opened his mouth, but, again, Anduin cut him off with a protest that, despite his resolve, left him at a loss: 

“You always tell me I’m weak, but then when I try to do something for once you complain about that, as well. What does everyone want from me?”

The joyous look on Anduin’s face when he had first arrived had lapsed into something ragged and desperate. Wrathion shuddered, looking from the bowl of crystals to his boyfriend’s eyes, and then back down at the sausages and coffee he had left untouched. Licking his lips, fighting the dryness and the weight of his tongue in his mouth, he tried, with all the strength he could manage, to reply:

“Yes, it is true. As a king, you must make difficult decisions and I am sure your people will back you,” Wrathion sighed. It was clear there was no use fighting. Whatever power stole the breath from his chest and cried into the air around him seemed to inspire something very different in the king: confidence, hope, a stubborn persistence that couldn’t be deterred. 

He could fight it with his last breath, but he was a dragon, and a ‘questionable’ person, at that. No matter how many ways he tried to explain it, who would believe Azeroth wept all around them when no one could hear her but him? They’d accuse him of turning to the old gods, of trying to hinder their war. If Anduin himself wasn’t ready to listen, to whom could he expect to turn?

Again, he chanced a look in Anduin’s direction, and the shadows he saw there shook him to his core. Chest rising, then falling, as he fought through a labored breath, he forced himself to utter the words he dreaded but knew he must say:

“Do what you must, my dear. I won’t fight you, but I also can’t lie and claim I support it. We are at odds again, I’m afraid.”


	5. Proposal (Consort)

Anduin stared down into his tea, watching the surface ripple as he gave his cup a slight swirl. The tongues of steam escaping the rich gold liquid had finally started to abate, and he pressed it to his lips, using the rim to mask the frown that threatened to overtake his features. It was just for a pause, but at least it gave him time to collect himself. 

Across the table, Genn waited, bristling slightly as he looked between the king and his noble guests. A certain silence hung in the air, until Anduin finally cleared his throat and managed to answer: “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not have this discussion right now.”

If there was one thing Anduin had learned from observing his father, however, it was that, king or not, no one heeded requests like this when visiting his private chambers. While they may put on a show of honoring the king when commoners looked on, alone they dismissed decorum and persisted, even when the matter at hand was of very personal nature.

He had wanted today would be different, but Count Ridgewell unfortunately dashed his hopes. The older man sniffed and sat up straighter. Rather than addressing Anduin directly, he turned and muttered to Genn, “A boy of eighteen, having no wife or betrothed. It just isn’t proper, not when there are many suitable women at court.”

“Which he and I have discussed in full.” It was clear Genn was doing his best to put their concerns to rest. At first Anduin even thought that might be the end of things, but then the older king turned on him, his grey brows furrowing slightly. “As I’m sure you remember, your Majesty, you will be expected to produce an heir, and soon. This hesitation must come to an end, if not for you, for your father’s kingdom.”

It was the same disagreement they always had, the same pointed jab that always left Anduin unnerved, and Genn knew it. The young king clenched his cup a bit tighter, his hand shaking as he lowered it into the saucer. Staring into his tea gave him somewhere to look besides Genn’s pale blue eyes.

Swallowing, he tried his voice, “Yes, I know.” His breath hitched, his voice strained with equal parts weariness and frustration. Why did Genn always insist on bringing up his father at times like this? “And as you may remember, father proposed the idea of a surrogate mother. I don’t see why that plan can't proceed.” 

Anduin suspected Genn remembered that important discussion, the plan his father had put forth one night over a private supper: a plan to appoint a woman to the rank of queen-mother without forcing Anduin to marry. Had his father lived, they would have drafted it, whether the court of nobles agreed or not. 

But now, with no binding document, it was on Greymane to speak for him. Anduin cast him a hopeful look, but he was met only by a blank face and lips that fell slightly beneath his mustache when Anduin lingered too long.

He felt as if the wind had been sucked from his chest, and the statement that followed did little to ease that tightness. 

“What I don’t see,” Lord Reid began, casting a look between the king and the count beside him, “Is why he can’t father heirs with his wife like everyone else. He’s a man, isn’t he? He should do what men do, what his father before him did. Why even think of surrogates? There are plenty of eligible wives.”

“Because I do not love them,” Anduin blurted out. When he heard the words leave his mouth heat flooded his cheeks. They sounded so childish, so desperate. But there was no way of taking them back. Forcing down the unease that churned in his chest, he sat up straighter, cleared his voice, and tried, a bit more practiced:

“I have considered all eligible candidates, and though they are all charming women of good taste, there is nobody I feel ready to take as my spouse. King Greymane and I have already discussed an engagement to Princess Tess, but she and I are not interested in one another in that capacity.”

“Well, what of my granddaughter Lela?” Lord Reid prompted. Anduin realized at once that this was the true reason they were having this talk, perhaps even the reason Lord Reid had made this trip in the first place. He pursed his lips and tried to look anywhere but at the noble. “She has just turned eighteen, a fine woman of distinguished birth. The marriage would suit you both, and would delight my people in Stromgarde who have lost more than most in your Alliance’s war.”

Any nausea Anduin had managed to quell swelled back to life once more. Mention of their losses in Arathi drained the blood from his cheeks, leaving his lower lip numb. He clenched his hands together in his lap beneath the table. Why must these nobles always resort to guilt with him when they wanted to get their way?

His chest rose, then fell, and he tried to explain, “I am sure your granddaughter is a charming woman, but I have never even met her. Surely she’d be happier courting one of the men in your own country rather than being forced into marriage with me.”

“She is eager to serve her kingdom,” Lord Reid replied, now doing little to mask his ire, “Which is something you would do well to learn from her.”

At that, Genn straightened his back in his chair, finally ready to intercede, “The High King is serving his kingdom. He has sent supplies and men north to Stromgarde every day since the conflict broke out. We have both seen to it that no one in Arathor has gone without all they need.”

“Yes, but there isn’t much you can do about the skeletons crawling all over our farms, is there? You’ve always been safe from the Scourge down here.”

Whatever neutrality Genn had been trying to foster gave way to a growl. Anduin fought to keep the relief from his face, not wanting to make matters worse, but it was hard not to feel a little bit lighter when Genn’s eyes flashed in Lord Reid’s direction. 

“I will have you remember, Reid, that I have not always lived in Stormwind. Where were your men when the Banshee Queen tore through my wall?”

“Where were you when the orcs revolted against my people? Oh, yes, behind your wall, I believe. Stromgarde hasn’t forgotten.”

Normally, Anduin dreaded such bickering, but today he managed to take it in stride. At least for a moment angry eyes at the table were turned away from him. It didn’t last long, however. With Genn’s retort still lingering in the air, Count Ridgewell cut in, his voice low and slurred from the whiskey he swigged from his flask, “What of that Taelia Fordragon? I met her yesterday, lovely girl.”

This time Anduin was prepared. He willed his hand to stop shaking, then reached for his cup. Threading his fingers through its slender handle, he gazed across the table at the count and gently shook his head. “Bolvar Fordragon raised me. That makes Taelia more like a sister than anything.”

Lord Reid snorted. Feeling his poise starting to quiver once more, Anduin cast Lord Reid a glance. His tea sloshed, a few drops escaping over the rim and landing with a ‘plp’ in the saucer below. Anduin silently prayed no one would notice.

“Yes, Lord Reid?” He tried, but he soon wished he had just ignored him.

“Nobles have married much closer than that in the past, and you know it. But this isn’t about one woman or another not working for you, is it? Stop trying to hide the truth. You don’t intend to marry a woman at all.”

Anduin’s heart clenched. He chanced a glance in Genn’s direction, but he soon regretted it, seeing the way the man stared down into his empty mug and gritted his teeth beneath drawn lips. It was a truth with which they would have to contend, but that didn’t assuage his pulse thundering in his ears.

Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to reply. But Lord Reid seemed unwilling to let him speak, cutting him off with a biting hiss: “You have plenty of time and charm for that _dragon._ Stop pretending our daughters and cousins aren’t good enough for you.”

“I think,” Genn cut in, then continued, lingering on every syllable as if choosing his words very carefully, “We have heard enough of this conversation. The High King will draft a formal reply to the Kingdom of Stromgarde in the coming weeks.”

Anduin knew it shouldn’t just stay at that, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful. He scooted back his chair and used his cane to rise to standing, his joints aching after having been held taut through their conversation. With a few limps towards the exit, he passed Genn and their guests and thought to extend a hand in farewell. 

However, they paid him little more than a glance, and resumed their muttering as soon as he arrived at the threshold, a few unfortunate words of which reached Anduin over the squeal of his door swinging inward: 

“Even gay kings get married, you know.”

I know, Anduin wanted to sigh in response, but, thinking better of it, he bit his tongue and wandered out into the courtyard.

The sun cast its warmth across the grass and licked at the edge of the bench. That brightness, however, was almost lost on the king, who found himself shaking even more violently now that he was alone. Clenching his jaw, he shifted and leaned back against a pillar, using the chair to prop up his injured leg but still finding little by way of relief. 

On most days he came here to relax between court sessions, sometimes meeting Wrathion for a quick lunch or losing himself in a book. But where the courtyard tended to echo with laughter or his boyfriend’s boisterous declarations, today it just felt hollow, oppressive, even. The Keep’s blue-capped tower seemed to stare down at him.

The dragon was up there somewhere, likely pacing the floor and wondering what had transpired, awaiting and dreading any change in Anduin’s circumstances. At least he’d be able to assure him that he had stood his ground. But as these meetings got more and more frequent, it was clear Wrathion felt it, and no amount of ‘you’re the king, you can do what you want’ had yet to put them to an end.

Letting out a sigh, Anduin shot a glance at his cane. He knew he should climb the stairs and speak to him, but he didn’t yet trust his quivering knees to make it the full way up.

And so he just waited, numb and shivering, until the nobles departed and Genn walked out on the terrace. 

“Anduin,” he prompted, with no trace of formality left in his voice. He just sounded tired and strained, like Anduin’s father himself after a long day at court. At least that much felt familiar. Anduin looked over at him and managed the barest hint of a smile, but the worgen gave his head a shake. 

“I know your feelings on the matter, but this can’t continue, not with him.”

Anduin didn’t even need to protest. It was clear the other king could read it in his wide eyes, because he continued, “I know you believe you have feelings for him, but remember who he is and how his kind have played the noble houses in the past.”

“But he isn’t like that. You know him, Genn,” Anduin finally cut in. It wasn’t enough, however, to put the older man off of his monologue: 

“I know the face he puts on for us, yes, but Anduin, you must understand. Princess Calia was tricked, at least. You have put yourself up to this willingly. Surely you must understand how…if I may say it, Anduin, how foolish this looks.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, if anything, he’s been up-front about everything. Surely that must count for something.”

Anduin hated how weak his voice sounded, especially echoing down the courtyard walkway, and wasn’t surprised when Genn frowned back at him, unconvinced. He just wished people could see what he saw in the dragon, could feel the warmth and trust he felt when in the other man’s company. But, whether from their own preconceptions or the airs Wrathion wrapped himself in, no one seemed ready to view Wrathion through Anduin’s eyes, and he hated it. 

He wanted to believe there would be some breakthrough or moment of clarity. But every day that possibility seemed to slip further and further away. He had to fight for it, he knew, but his resolve wasn’t enough to keep his breath steady. 

“I have fallen for him,” Anduin cursed his voice for wavering but managed to gasp out, “I can’t just leave him because the nobles are angry. You must understand, Genn. Please.”

“I understand,” Genn approached, casting his shadow across Anduin’s face. At first, Anduin thought—and hoped—that that might be the end of his declaration, but then he persisted, “And I want to help you, but at the very least, choose a man from one of the noble houses. As king, you have to pick your battles, Anduin. Lord Reid has a grandson. There are eligible men in House Lescovar. If you can’t settle for one of the humans, at least try Turalyon’s son.”

“But I don’t—” Anduin started, but his tongue felt heavy, his lips dry as he struggled to swallow. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and as he mouthed the protest he hoped to manage the words just stuck in his throat. He was the king, as Wrathion always said. He didn’t have to explain himself. 

But that wasn’t why he found himself at a loss, nor why he kept those words unsaid.

Struggling to meet Genn Greymane’s eyes, he felt another wave of guilt surge in his chest. This man wanted to help him, wanted to do what he believed was best, Anduin knew. That was why he had come to rely on him so fiercely in the months after his father’s death. 

And yet here they were, lingering in the sunlight with all their hopes and concerns laid bare, and no matter what Anduin said, he knew he couldn’t help him see. Not knowing what else to do, he sat up straighter, easing his leg off the bench so he could turn his torso. Grasping his cane, he rose, and then, with a slow bow of his head, readied to make for the stairwell. 

Casting one last look in Genn’s direction, he mustered a smile that must have looked pale on his lips, but thankfully it was enough to keep the other king from following. Reaching into himself, he found the kingly voice he had cultivated, the one they had practiced together, and declared, short, and definite: 

“I understand, King Greymane. But I’m afraid I have already made up my mind.”


	6. Fatherhood (Birth)

Wrathion wasn’t usually permitted to walk freely through the Keep doors and into the royal court, but today was an exception. Today he had come on official business: not his usual trysts with Anduin in the garden, but instead a formal reception with a gift and an offer that he doubted even the House of Nobles could refuse. Approaching the stairs with an entourage of agents in tow, he gazed up at the Keep’s stone edifice, adjusted his turban, and then ascended with a dramatic wave of his hand. The Lion’s Guard parted and stepped to the side.

Sunlight yielded to lamplight when he crossed over the threshold. His heels clicked against the stone floor, the soft ‘tck-tck’ of his footfalls echoing through the corridor, drawing the eyes of an audience that had assembled in the main chamber. A soft murmur passed through the crowd. Even Anduin looked a bit surprised, sitting up a bit straighter in his throne and blinking as if he didn’t already know Wrathion would be coming. 

At first, Wrathion thought the look might be for show, but then he caught the king’s gaze straying towards the box in Left’s arms, and a slow grin spread across his lips. Well, well, it seemed even after all the time they had spent together, he was still able to catch his young king off guard from time to time.

Wrathion bowed, far deeper than he needed to. His hand slid up to hold his turban in place. When he rose again, it was with the same pleased grin and crimson eyes focused only on the young man seated before him. 

“My king,” he murmured, earning a slight bristle from the crowd of guards and commoners lining the walls. Anduin, too, seemed to notice, for even in the dim light the dragon caught a faint blush crossing his cheeks. 

Nobody moved to stop him, so he decided to take a few steps forward. Each click of his heels on the marble floor shook in the space between them, interrupted only by Left’s huff as she sat down the box and the gasp it drew from the lips of a noblewoman Wrathion wasn’t sure he recognized. 

The dragon relished in it. He reached the base of the throne and paused, letting a hush fill the chamber once more. Finally, Anduin looked down at him and arched his brow. His lips twitched, but Wrathion couldn’t guess whether he was fighting not to smile or simply trying to summon his royal voice.

Either way, Wrathion decided to cut in, breaking court etiquette to prompt his boyfriend, “King Anduin Llane Wrynn, it is an honor to stand before you in Stormwind. I have very much looked forward to this meeting.”

His declaration earned another murmur, and a cough from Genn Greymane that drew more eyes than he’d clearly intended. Of course, everyone from Stormwind to Orgrimmar knew that the Black Prince had taken up residence in the Keep several months ago—the gossip columns and political pamphlets littered along the Stormwind canal had made that clear—but Wrathion intended to make it official today. 

He bowed again, and then extended his hand to Anduin. The king stared at his claws for a moment, and then, after glancing around the room, eyes widened and breath hitching noticeably, he hurriedly shoved out his hand. Wrathion, by contrast, languished in the gesture, sliding his fingers beneath Anduin’s at the first knuckle and then running the pad of his thumb across his skin. 

Around them, everything seemed to stop. Even the nobles who had caught a glimpse of the gift in the middle of the floor ceased their murmurs to stare.

Wrathion dipped forward and brushed the king’s hand against his lips. When he rose again, it was to offer his boyfriend a toothy grin that the other man seemed unwilling—or unable—to match. 

“My king,” he began again, his voice even louder and his drawl more pronounced than before, “I come to you today to pledge my service to the throne, for as long as you reign, and, moreover, to demonstrate my commitment to that promise with a priceless gift.”

“Left,” he turned back and waved. The orc looked grim and thoroughly out-of-place standing alone in the center of the chamber, but she didn’t protest, just leaning over and lifting the box once more. When its contents shifted, they let out a knock that rose to the ceiling. For the first time since he’d arrived, Anduin seemed more interested in looking over his shoulder than into his crimson eyes.

“Wrathion,” Anduin lowered his voice, “What have you brought to the court?”

There was a certain trepidation beneath his words, but it escalated to a gasp when Left set down the box at the foot of his throne and he finally saw the contents. Not feeling a bit concerned, Wrathion leaned back against the throne’s lion armrest, letting the king take a long look. 

There was little need to keep up appearance any longer, now that everyone in the room craned their necks towards the package instead. When Anduin spoke again, it was in the same hushed tone he used to scold him for cheating at cards or making nasty comments about someone at court: an exhale, then a sharp, pointed “Wrathion!”

“Yes, my dear?” If Anduin was done playing court, then he was, as well. 

“Are those…dragon eggs?” 

“They are, my dear. Do you like them?”

“Did you—did you lay them?”

When Wrathion glanced to his left, he found the king staring back up at him with red cheeks and wide blue eyes. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose to his lips, even here, with an audience. He shook his head hard enough that his earring knocked against his jaw, “No, Titans, no, your Majesty. Even if father hadn’t left us cursed, I am far from developed enough for that. No—”

Wrathion stood up straighter, breaking eye contact with Anduin to address the room as a whole. His gaze moved from Greymane, who looked markedly older than usual with his lips set in a frown, to a cluster of anxious nobles, and then to the commoners, who seemed more interested in snapping pictures than worrying over the logistics. 

Well, he decided, he would give them the show they were seeking. Descending to the base of the throne, he reached a gloved hand into the case and lifted one of two black eggs into the light. Careful to avoid the spikes, he turned it over, smiling and admiring it, before offering it to Anduin. Unsurprisingly, the king didn’t reach for it, at least not at first.

“King Anduin,” he tried again. No one else seemed to know what to do. “I acquired these eggs in Highmountain some six months ago, and, despite all my efforts, I have not succeeded in warming them to the needed temperature. As you may or may not be aware, dragon eggs can rest dormant for years, as these most certainly have.”

After a few more shakes of his hand, he finally convinced Anduin to take the egg. The king held it at arm’s length, but it was clear from the flicker of light in his eyes that he at least was intrigued. Wrathion scooped up the second egg, which he cradled in his arm like some kind of proud parent. To his right, somebody snapped a picture, light flashing across his toothy grin. 

Satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, he continued, making a show of running his glove over the egg’s spiked surface, “They are most certainly uncorrupted, from an era before my flight was plagued by the old gods’ whispers. If you will lend me the use of a gnomish heating device, I will pledge them in service to the Alliance, to serve your Majesty in court and in battle until the end of your days.”

“Today marks the beginning of a new chapter for the Black Dragonflight. Today, I take the first step in mending the rift Onyxia drove between my species and the Wrynn dynasty. I implore you, King Anduin, to let me make up for her malevolence.”

In some far corner of the chamber somebody drew in a sharp inhale. Otherwise the crowd seemed to freeze in place, as if trapped under a stone-making spell. But then, all at once, the hush shattered. A general stationed by the door clapped his hands, and the cluster of nobles that had stared, enraptured, now traded a few greedy smiles.

Anduin’s voice sounded small by comparison, but Wrathion felt it caress his ear when he leaned down to take the second egg off his hands. “I accept,” he nodded, cradling the eggs against his armor, “But if they turn out to be corrupted—”

“We’ll deal with that if the need arises. But for now, please, help me get them into the heat.”

____________________

Despite the thin veneer of formality both of them had mustered that day, Wrathion and Anduin both had insisted that the eggs be kept in the royal bedchamber, claiming that they needed constant personal care to survive. In truth, Wrathion didn’t trust anyone else at court not to steal them for the black market, and Anduin…well, Anduin proved to be far more invested in the idea than he had at first let on.

More than once, Wrathion caught him lingering beside the incubator, a soft smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he would crouch down and stare at the two black mounds, lingering to watch them quiver and murmuring something under his breath. On other occasions he seemed content just to listen to the machine’s electric hum, light playing across his flushed cheeks and glimmering on his downcast eyes.

Wrathion couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what left him poised so often at the corner of the machine. More than once he had wandered over to join him, propping his chin against his shoulder and wrapping his arms snug around his waist. Finally, one day, it hit him: the smile, the widened eyes…this must be what mortals experienced while awaiting a birth.

This, he decided, must be what the mortals meant when they lovingly spoke of ‘fatherhood.’

And so it came as no surprise to Wrathion that night that Anduin made a stop at the incubator on his way back from the bathroom. The dragon lifted his head from the pillow and watched him emerge from the shadows into a halo of electric light. He had a towel wrapped snug around his waist, and his blond hair clung, still wet, to his shoulder. 

The machine’s glow caught the gasp that formed on his lips even before the sound left him. “Wrathion!” He gasped, pressing his hands against the glass. “Wrathion, Wrathion, come here!”

Feeling palpable excitement in every word and unable to stop himself from being swept up in it as well, Wrathion bolted up and let his feet hit the floor beside the bed. He all but bounded across the space between them, but the soft pad of his footfalls did nothing to draw Anduin’s attention. Instead his gaze remained transfixed on the glass, and when Wrathion approached he soon confirmed why.

One of the eggs had shattered, a handful of broken pieces now scattered around its base. Something inside the half-broken shell now scratched, and shifted, revealing first a deep orange wing and then an eye, tiny and green, staring at then through the glass. Wrathion swallowed. Beside him, Anduin quivered and reached out to fumble with the latch. 

When the machine’s glass door popped open, Wrathion was greeted by a faint scent he’d nearly forgotten: rich, wet, and vaguely-metallic, but not off-putting to him in the slightest. He could tell Anduin was hesitating, though whether it was the smell or the tiny creature squirming inside that stilled his hand, Wrathion couldn’t be sure.

He just took a step between his king and the case. Carefully, he slid his arm through the door and dusted away a few shell fragments obstructing his path. The whelp hissed. He simply clicked his tongue in response, whispering a few words in draconic under his breath before easing his claw between the open egg and the whelp inside and helping her out into the light. 

She froze and looked up. Her eyes locked with his, and he tried again, murmuring in their language, “ _Come on now, little one. It will be fine._ ”

Beside him, Anduin finally turned his gaze away from the whelp and to Wrathion’s face. The small smile that graced his features thereafter left Wrathion feeling hot, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“No, no, my dear,” he furrowed his brow and distracted himself with slowly removing the whelp from the heat. It was easier and slightly less embarrassing than watching his boyfriend grin, at least, and took enough focus that he didn’t feel obligated to answer until he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. 

It wasn’t until he closed the door and brought the small creature to rest against his silk undershirt that he spoke again. Even conscious of how delicate she felt and the way she squirmed against him, he managed not to sound _too_ taken by her: “Oh, call it instinct, I suppose. In any case, the other egg hasn’t started cracking so I suppose we will have to wait.”

“Okay—” Anduin nodded, taking a step closer. From the way his voice rose when he said it, it was clear there was more he wanted to say.

“Yes?” Wrathion prompted, keeping the whelp pressed against his chest. “Is there something else, my dear?”

“Can I please see?”

“Oh!” It wasn’t until Anduin asked that he realized what he was doing, lingering with the small dragon cradled against him like a human might hold an infant. His cheeks flooded with heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the machine humming in front of him. Even though he clamored to reply, his tongue felt heavy against his teeth, stilled by some power fully beyond rational thought.

A kind of desperate need to protect, almost jealously, had swelled in his chest, and he fought to shove it back down. What in Azeroth’s name had washed over him? He cursed it, biting his lip and looking away before shoving the whelp out in Anduin’s direction.

Anduin seemed to hesitate. Wrathion feared what he must be thinking, what kind of concern his ridiculous outburst might have spawned. But whatever tension had passed between them wavered as soon as he brought the whelp back into the light, and Anduin gasped and beamed down at her small green eyes.

His finger quivered slightly when he reached out and ran it along the top of her head. She shifted in Wrathion’s palm, gazing up at the human and then opening her toothy maw. At first Wrathion thought she might hiss again, but she seemed to give it up, finding something, instead, in Anduin’s touch that eased her agitation.

With her wings still curled around her small body, she scooted closer. Reaching down to find Anduin’s free hand beside his hip, Wrathion caught his fingers in his grasp and lifted his arm, urging him to cup his two hands together. 

Nodding, Anduin followed his lead, accepting her weight with a smile. When he looked down at her, his eyes glittered; Wrathion suspected it was more than the incubator light that played across their light blue surface this time. He stepped closer. With his own hands now free, he reached out to trail a claw down Anduin’s bare shoulder.

“Well, my dear, what do you think of her?” He murmured.

Anduin didn’t break eye contact with the whelp to look over at him, but Wrathion, of course, wasn’t surprised. “She’s so small,” he whispered in response, slowly nodding his head. “Were you ever small like this?”

“I imagine so,” Wrathion admitted with a shrug. The whelp in Anduin’s hand had rolled over, and now nuzzled his wrist with the tip of her maw, earning an approving giggle from the king. The sound made Wrathion’s chest feel lighter. His heart raced, and he rested his cheek against the top of Anduin’s arm to follow his gaze.

Anduin took a moment to touch her wing, and then continued with a hopeful crack in his voice, “So she’ll start talking soon, then?”

“Oh, no, likely not,” Wrathion didn’t want to disappoint the king, but he had to be honest. “I was exceptional. The Red Dragonflight saw to it that I was born with a developed brain. She hasn’t spoken to me from the egg, which is a good sign, quite frankly. It’s fairer for her to mature normally—something I was never allowed.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Anduin nodded, not seeming at all put off by his revelation. Satisfied, Wrathion smiled and pressed a kiss to his skin, earning an approving murmur in response.

“But I guess this means,” Anduin added after a bit of a pause, “That we’ll have to think of a name for her ourselves. Do you have anything in mind?”

A name. Yes, a name, of course. Wrathion had thought about it from time to time since collecting the eggs in Highmountain but had never quite been sure where he wanted to go with it. He mused to himself, only realizing after the words left his lips that he was speaking out loud:

“Well, her name will have to follow my flight’s conventions, of course, and convey something of who she is and the circumstances surrounding her birth. It’s rather different than naming a pet, is it not? I’m not disposed these kinds of decisions for someone else. I am simply not sure…”

He trailed off, looking into the shadows around them. A few feet away, he could barely make out a family portrait of two humans holding a boy with bushy long hair. He had never met the couple, but he knew they were Anduin’s grandparents: Llane and Taria. Taria.

“Taria?” He murmured, glancing between the whelp and the young king who hold her.

Anduin froze. The dragon felt something pass over him, a kind of tremor that moved from his arm to his now-clenched jaw. 

Oh dear, he might have overreached with that one, he realized. Swallowing, he followed up the offer with an explanation that all but tumbled from his lips, “It fits my flight’s naming conventions, you see, and I think it’s quite nice. But if naming her for your grandmother would be, ah, ill-perceived…”

He trailed off, fearing he’d have to continue, but thankfully Anduin puts his fears to rest. “Oh, no,” he choked out, looking over at Wrathion. When their eyes met, he smiled, and brought the small whelp close to his heart. She leaned her weight against him, her small chest rising and falling in the half-doze to which she had lapsed. Anduin blinked and gave her head a gentle stroke, before murmuring, softly, “Taria.”

“Taria it is, then?”

Anduin nodded. 

Straining up onto his toes, Wrathion propped his chin against his shoulder and looked down, getting caught up in the king’s warmth and the emotion he felt in his every word. He nuzzled his neck, and then, resting his palm against the small of his back, whispered into his ear:

“Well, my dear, welcome to fatherhood.”


End file.
